The Professional Jobs Of Those At Scotland Yard
by Fezzes at 221b
Summary: An in-depth insight of the dedicated workers at Scotland Yard, who risk their lives so that we may be safe and happy in our homes... Including Donovan balancing stuff on Lestrade while he sleeps, new guys being utterly shocked at the discipline and more. (Crack) MET workers, we salute you.
1. Chapter 1

"GUYS, THERE'S A NEW ONE!" yelled a middle-aged man with dark grey hair. Whoops were heard across the big office room.

"Dibs narrator!" replied a tanned woman, dark hair in curls exploding from her head.

"I'm John!" roared a pot-bellied man, standing up.

"SHERLAWK!" squealed a female voice. Anderson was dancing like a little girl and giggling.

"I'm Moriarty!" drawled an American dude in a bad Irish accent.

"MRS HUD-SOOOOOON!"

"Lestrade!"

"I'm the skull!"

There was a silence as everyone looked at the man who had spoken.

"It has interesting character depth."

After a few minutes, everyone had a part, or had at least tried to get a part.

Then, everyone opened the same website on their screen.

"And, GO!"

"It all started when Lestrade called us. Sherlock as in his normal position, feet up on the wall, his hands clasped in front of his face. I was just writing out our last case, when 'Sure Fire Winners' started playing. Sherlock shouldn't have let Greg choose his ringtone...'


	2. Chapter 2

**Yo, kids, this is a crack fic. No swearing cuz i think my Mum is watching me type this. I've starting writing more crack, so sorry if you don't like that. **

**Again, if you want a certain story on any of the fandoms I'm currently writing for, just PM me with it or leave it in a review. I'll do most ships, unless I don't know one, and I ain't doing smut, sorry kiddos.**

**Have a great week.**

**Fez.**

"Hello, I'm Mr. Anderson and I'm your boss. No, we don't actually work here, we let a insane, moody sociopath who is high half the time do all our work. Doughnuts are over there and the coffee machine doesn't take 5p's." the bearded man that currently sat in front of Andrew White.

He nodded slowly. Screw what school said, being a policeman was gunna be damned easy.

The next day, Andrew walked into the office. As he walked past an ajar door, he caught a glimpse of a grey-haired man, sleeping with his feet up on the desk.

As he got to his own desk, he glanced up at the man who sat where Mr. Anderson had sat yesterday.

The man was clean-shaven and had slightly bushy brown hair.

He walked up to the man and coughed slightly. The man looked up, surprised.

"Uh, hello?" he asked. The mans voice was slightly familiar.

"Hi, I was just wondering if you were new. I'm new too."

"Oh, um..."

"Also, that is Mr. Anderson's seat."

"Andrew, is it?"

"Yes."

"I'm Mr Anderson. I shaved."

"Oh."


	3. Chapter 3

A curly haired woman crept into a large office room. A grey haired man was in the big office chair, with his feet propped up on the desk. He was asleep, his head on his chest.

The woman stifled a giggle and beckoned another man in behind her. The second man was holding a large armful of books, about law and police rules. The woman took one of the man and balanced it cautiously on the sleeping man's head. The man grinned, unable to help himself.

"Donovan! He'll wake up!" He hissed.

The woman gave him a grin over her shoulder as she placed another one on his head. It wobbled but didn't fall.

"Shh, Anderson! Believe me, Lestrade doesn't wake up unless you say doughnuts."

The sleeping man shot upright, books flying.

"Someone say doughnuts?" He helped, then realised his deputy and best forensic officer were standing there, pale and shocked.

"Well done."

"Shut up, Anderson!"

"Where are the doughnuts?"

"He he... Out there... We'll go... Get them!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"GIMME DOUGHNUTS!"

"RUN!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"But I'm Anderson."

"I finally understand Sherlock now. You are an idiot."


	4. Chapter 4

**Yo kids. First off, its late and I can't sleep so ya'll (I swear I'm British. I have one American friend. And one American TV show. And Cpt. Jack Harkness. Blame them.) get a new chapter! These are gunna be short, cuz the prompts are pretty vague, but if you want something to happen, leave a review or send me a DM. **

**Also, this the second last one of the prompts, so it should be over by Tuesday (two days.)**

**I hope you all have a nice night, get sleep etc, and enjoy tomorrow which is a Monday (Sobbing from corner)**

**Fez.**

Donovan walked down the hall of the MET offices. She had been working here for five years now and she had a ritual that she completed every day of that five.

She followed the corridor from Lestrade's office to hers, halfway down, there was a T junction which she entered and went down some stairs.

Looking up, a small black camera swivelled.

She smiled charmingly, the smile she used for traumatized witnesses and slowly brought up her middle finger up to it.

She carried on, and went down a olive coloured hall. As she walked, a camera silently turned to watch her.

She didn't know that one was there.

Anthea had watched for five years, as the tanned woman with curls exploding out of her head had crept down these halls, then strode down them, newbies cowering in her path. She had watched as the woman had trudged down these halls in the dead of night, holding stacks of files; in the early morning shifts, nursing coffee; following Sherlock, Lestrade, Anderson, everyone.

She watched as she had eventually started looking up, spotting cameras in stairwells and corridors, slowly piecing together that the cameras were Mycroft's, the brother of her most-hated colleague. She saw as she started giving the middle finger to cameras, mouthing curses.

Sometimes, though, she saw the woman sigh towards the cameras, gaze up with heavy eyelids, too tired to raise a hand.

She saw everything and on them nights?

Sally Donovan won a six-day holiday, all expenses paid, to a relaxation spa, with express orders to everyone that the only acceptable time to bring her back was if someone in her family had died, or Sherlock ad expressed his love to her.

Needless to say, that didn't happen.

**Ugh I don't know. The prompt was 'Donovan giving the finger to corners where she thinks Mycroft's cameras are, but instead Anthea seeing and falling in love' **

**I'm probably going to delete this.**

**Please review and say what you think. I don't usaually write Donovan or Anthea so...**

**Fez.**


End file.
